Rogue
by Jedi Knight247
Summary: AU. On a hunting trip, Legolas has a strange dream which uncovers a secret that will change his life forever: He is not Thranduil's son.
1. The Pursuit

_**A/N: **I have just returned from a long absence of fanfiction, so I hope that you will all bear with me. _

_This story takes place some years before the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and I have taken the liberty to create some of my own characters; I promise that it will get better as each chapter goes on._

_As for the disclaimer...is that even nessecary?_

_Anyway, I hope that you read the whole chapter, and I truly appreciate it if you reviewed to let me know what you think--I'll definately accept criticism--constructive criticism._

_Sorry for the ramble; please read and enjoy! ; )_

**ROGUE**

**Chapter One: The Pursuit**

The trees rushed past them in a blur, but it mattered not. Their long hair blew wildly behind them.

Their three stallions, one black, one brown, and the other white, ran swiftly and tirelessly, just like their high-spirited riders.

The white horse was far ahead of the black and brown ones, though, and the blond rider, soon seeing his prey, drew his bow and an arrow out of his quiver.

His horse did not lose its speed despite the fact that his hands were no longer on the reins; the stag ahead of him slinked in and out of view, but the rider kept his eyes on the creature. He and his fellow hunters had not had a scrap of luck in these woods which two of them truly called home, but on this last day of hunting, they had spotted a white stag and had pursued it for approximately three hours, and yet it had remained quite elusive, simply darting in and out of view--but these riders were relentless.

Thinking that he had a clear shot, the rider on the white horse fired his arrow; it narrowly missed the stag, hitting a tree instead—but it was enough to scare the stag, which gave it a new burst of energy.

It loped behind some trees and out of sight. The rider tried to pursue, but no longer saw it; he resignedly put his bow away and dismounted, finally allowing his minor fatigue to catch up with him.

The other two riders also gained ground until they too slowed their horses and dismounted beside the lone rider.

"You almost had him, Legolas," the man said with a grin; he ran a hand through his black hair that was now stringy with sweat, and looked to the arrow deeply imbedded in the tree, "You were very close," he said, nodding to the tree to accentuate his point.

Legolas accepted the compliment with sincere appreciation. "I suppose there is no harm in letting the stag run free this day," he said with a smile.

The third rider was not as jolly as Legolas and the man who was beside him. The third rider was Fingolfin—Prince Fingolfin, the eldest of King Thranduil's children.

Legolas noted the stoical prince, "Both of you also rode relentlessly," Legolas said, aiming the comment at his brother.

Fingolfin did not respond; he merely turned back to his black stallion and tended to it.

The man simply shrugged; he had never known Prince Fingolfin's attitude to be any different than what it was like today, but he clearly noticed that Legolas appeared to be disturbed.

"Do not worry, Legolas—he must just have something on his mind," the man assured hopefully.

Legolas shook his head, he knew better. "It's not that, Estel—you know it as well as I," the Prince said seriously. All mirth was gone from his voice and eyes now.

"Let us set out for camp once more," Estel said, loudly enough for Fingolfin to hear.

Legolas nodded in agreement, "The sun is setting, and we should journey for father's palace this night."

Fingolfin straightened his horse's saddle and turned to face them. "The woods are not safe, we will return tomorrow," he said coldly. Fingolfin was by no means an ugly elf, but his stoical—even sometimes cold—behavior made him unpleasant to be around at times.

He did not want to come on this hunt, but Thranduil had somewhat ordered him too.

Instead, he would have preferred to train with his weapons, either alone or with a soldier. To some, Fingolfin was considered the best wielder of weaponry in Mirkwood, or even Rivendell. Every year, annual contests were held to test a fighter's prowess. Fingolfin had won fifteen years in a row. None could defeat him.

Legolas nodded, "Very well, your reasoning makes perfect sense, my brother."

Fingolfin merely scowled and mounted his horse, not giving Legolas and Estel much time to follow him.

o-o-o-At Camp-o-o-o

It didn't take long for them to get the fire going, and they all made sure to keep it well stoked.

Fingolfin opted for the first watch, and Legolas was to take the second while Estel took the third.

While Estel fell into a deep and much-needed sleep, Legolas allowed himself to fall into that mystical trance that the elves called sleep. His eventful day had caught up to him and his entire body was wracked with aches and pains of the previous days' hunting as well.

His vision gradually became a blur, he could no longer see the camp fire, nor could he even make out his brother's shadow as he tended to it.

Legolas tried to move, but found that his limbs would not respond to his command; he tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't even open. He could barely breathe, and even then his breaths came in short and labored gasps.

Fingolfin was too absorbed in his own thoughts to even hear his brother's gasps. The handsome elf rested his slender chin in one of his hands as his mind ran over various serious matters.

Legolas' vision began to right itself and he could gradually make out someone.

_He saw a young elfling boy, with blond hair that was the same hue as his own. He could only see the back of the child, so he had no way of making out his face, but judging by his size, Legolas would have been surprised if he was six years of age._

_They were outside, that much Legolas knew, they were walking among the trees in a forest that was very familiar to Legolas, the forest that he called home._

_The moon shined in the sky, though the forest prevented much of that light from coming into the wood; Legolas wished that he had a lantern, but he had no way of getting one; the child continued ahead, seemingly oblivious to Legolas._

_Legolas decided that the Elven child was not aware of his presence and he did not like to entertain the thought of startling the little one._

_It seemed that he had no control over his speech whatsoever, for the words flowed freely from his mouth._

"_Hello," he called softly to the child. "Are you lost?"_

_The boy stood still, suddenly unwilling to move._

"_I won't harm you," Legolas said calmly. _

_Still, the child made no move._

_Legolas slowly and cautiously advanced. "Why are you wandering alone in the wood? Where is your father?"_

_Legolas thought he detected a sniffle, but one could not be certain, and then came the very quiet reply. "I have no father; my father is dead."_

_Legolas could find no words to say this time, though, and they were choked even further in his throat when the elfling turned around with blood staining his white tunic and little white breeches._

_A large lump formed in Legolas' throat as he surveyed the child's face which looked so strikingly familiar to him, so familiar…_

"Legolas!"

The called jolted him from his trance and he sat up in a cold sweat, his entrancing blue eyes darted around before he allowed them to focus on the speaker; it was Fingolfin.

"Surely you are not too tired to undertake your watching duty," the elf said, almost scolded.

Legolas blinked again for good measure, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

Fingolfin extended his arm to help Legolas up and the elf gratefully accepted it. The older elf suddenly scrutinized his brother—something was wrong.

"Are you alright, Legolas?" Fingolfin asked, some measure of sincere concern shining through.

Even though Legolas knew that he would never likely get such compassion from his brother again, a part of him could not bear to say anything about that dream or vision; whatever it was, it disturbed the Prince of Mirkwood greatly, so greatly that he had to keep it concealed.

He shook his head. "I'm fine," he said, trying to sound convincing.

Fingolfin guessed differently, but let it go at that.

As Legolas took up watch, his mind was not clear, not in the least, for he could not forget that child.

He could not forget that face.


	2. Invisible Hunters

_**A/N:** I sincerely thank all of you who took the time to review this story--I'm really sorry that I didn't have the chance to respond to any of your reviews, but I'm truly stoked that you guys like where I'm taking this._

_Hope I don't disappoint! And please, regardless of what you think of my work, I'll always appreciate a review, whether it's constructive critisicm or whatnot--sorry for the ramble. Here is chappy 2! _

**ROGUE**

**Chapter Two: Invisible Hunters**

When his turn to watch had ended, Legolas did not rest, he could not, nor did he tell Estel what had happened. For some reason he could not tell anyone.

Estel had noticed the subtle change in Legolas' behavior, but before he could ask him about it, Legolas had walked into a nearby wooded area, clearly wanting to be alone.

The man sighed.

There was a problem, and he didn't know how to fix it. He was Legolas' friend, so it only came natural to him to want to help his friend in any conceivable way.

But he also reminded himself that Legolas was not a child (most certainly not!), and he would talk when ready. Besides, Estel reasoned to himself, for all he knew, Legolas might have simply awakened on the wrong side of the ground!

Estel was not the only one with Legolas on his mind. Not so far away, they merely appeared as shadows, and they moved as silently and stealthily as death.

Waiting in the wings.

Estel did not see them, and neither did Prince Legolas who was so absorbed in his own thoughts.

None saw them.

o-o-o-Next Day-o-o-o

They saddled their horses as soon as the sun began its climb into the sky, and they knew that they would arrive at King Thranduil's palace around midday.

Their mounts had had a decent rest, but still there was no hurry so they slowed the gallop to a canter.

Just slow enough so that Fingolfin's warrior-honed senses could detect that something was amiss.

To the human eyes, ears, and mind, a minor rustle of leaves behind them might have simply been attributed to the wind, but Fingolfin held up his hand as a signal for them to stop.

"What is it?" Legolas mouthed to him, his blue eyes also looked around cautiously.

Fingolfin didn't reply, he simply dismounted his horse and disappeared out of sight.

"Should we go after him?" Estel asked, a little above a whisper, but a little too loud in this possibly dangerous situation.

Legolas shook his head, though he was partially contemplating the same thing.

Within a few moments, his brother returned; though he did not look shaken, Legolas and Estel noticed that he looked slightly paler.

He mounted his horse in a hurry, and bid them to ride faster.

"What is the matter?" Estel managed to yell above the trampling of their horses.

Fingolfin did not turn to regard the man. "We are being followed," he shouted back.

"Orcs?" Legolas asked; then he immediately regretted saying that out loud, for he saw his folly.

If their followers were orcs, then they would by no means run from the fight, but if it was something far more sinister…

Fingolfin did not give them any other chances to ask him another question, however, for he spurred his horse on even faster.

They rode for two hours straight before he stopped, allowing them to catch their breaths.

"I do not understand," Legolas said, after gulping down some water from his water skins.

Fingolfin shook his head, but whether it was in disgust of both of them or the situation, Legolas could not tell.

"Subtle tracks," Fingolfin eventually explained. "Tracks far too precise for an orc to make," he said, seemingly unimpressed, yet his earlier actions had shown differently.

"That of a spider," Legolas reasoned.

"No," Fingolfin said sharply. "The footprints were barely noticeable. They numbered more than us," he added to dispel the doubt that they could be their own.

Estel did not know what to make of the situation. "Perhaps it was an Elven scouting group," he said, trying to make light of the situation.

"I considered that," the Prince snapped at Estel.

Estel could not imagine Fingolfin being any other way than how he currently was. It hurt the man more than he showed, for to simply think of that Prince courting one who deserved so much better made his stomach churn.

"…they would have made themselves known to us," Fingolfin was saying.

Estel was not sure if he was convinced, and Fingolfin noticed that.

"Ah, but it seems as though they were either not so cautious or they were expecting us to see their trail."

Legolas frowned. "How so?"

"I found this," Fingolfin said, holding out a locket on a golden chain. "I found this and only this on the trail that I had taken to investigate our followers—only that it was not there before."

Legolas reached out for it. "May I see it?" he asked, not overly curious.

Fingolfin dangled the thing by its chain before dropping it into his hand.

Legolas fingered the intricate carving on the front of the locket; it was that of a phoenix. His slender finger managed to undo the small hatch that kept it closed, and the locket popped open.

Inside was a portrait, only a small one, yet it was large enough for the elf's eyes to make out every feature perfectly.

The portrait was that of the young elf boy he had seen in his dream. Every detail fitted the description perfectly. So perfectly, that Legolas almost dropped it out of shock. When he looked up, he noticed that all eyes were on him—even the horses stopped drinking their water to regard him for a second.

Fingolfin smirked. "Is it something familiar? A lost item found?"

Legolas said nothing, but to their surprise, he slipped the golden locket around his neck and walked off toward his horse.

For once, Estel and Fingolfin exchanged mutual glances of confusion before Fingolfin caught up with his brother. "So you are familiar with it, then," he said accusingly.

"I did not say that," Legolas said defensively.

"But you said nothing at all…and you wear it as though it belongs to you," the elf retorted without missing a beat.

Estel also caught up and refitted the saddle, even though his ear was cocked to the conversation.

Legolas in truth hardly knew why he had put the thing around his neck, and he could not blame Fingolfin for questioning him. "I know no more about the locket than you do, I just decided to wear it for safekeeping," he replied, trying to sound convincing.

Fingolfin was not convinced. "I saw the portrait, I saw the picture within. It is of an elf-boy is it not?"

Legolas nodded, and Estel moved over, no longer hiding his interest.

Fingolfin smirked evilly. "Could it be some sinister secret of yours?" he pressed. "Perhaps the child is not so unfamiliar to you."

Legolas shifted from one foot to the other. "I know nothing of the child," he said, remaining partially truthful. "I explained my reason to you, Fingolfin—that is the truth."

Fingolfin looked as if was going to say something else, press the conversation further, but then he merely let it go at that and walked back to his horse, only turning around before he remounted his stallion. "We should ride hard in order to reach father's palace today before our pursuers gain more ground than they already have."

Legolas nodded and he and Estel mounted their horses and followed Prince Fingolfin as he urged his horse to a gallop.

Though he would not speak of it, Fingolfin had not been fully truthful when he had said that the locket had been his only finding; he had also found a dagger, jeweled and perfect in every way…save the fact that the blade was stained with blood. Fingolfin knew that he would easily take care of that once they returned home, and he had every intention of keeping the dagger as his own.

Why not? He had found it after all, lying beside the locket which Legolas had now taken for his own.

In truth, he cared little for the locket. As a fighter, such trinkets did nothing for him. It was crafts of perfection, such as the dagger, than intrigued him. Now it was sheathed on a belt of weapons that hung at his hips.

No one had to know how he had found it and that it was already stained with the blood of another.

No one had to know.

Legolas, meanwhile, subconsciously clutched the locket with his free hand. He could not explain it, but he was beginning to feel as though he was somewhat truly connected with this young elf-boy that he had seen in his dream.

He never even thought that his mind was opening a door which would not readily close again.

Meanwhile, they were indeed being followed...by seemingly invisible hunters


	3. The mystery of the child reavealed

_**A/N:** A big thanks to all of you who read and reviewed : ). I totally appreciated it; I'm sorry if the updates are slow in coming, I'm also working on an original work at the same time, so..._

_Anyway, here's the third chapter. Read and enjoy. _

**JK 247**

**ROGUE**

**Chapter Three: The mystery of the child revealed**

At last, they finally returned home to King Thranduil's palace.

But that meant nothing to Legolas. He was exhausted and anything but content; to make things worse, when they were alone, Fingolfin had even gone so far as to suggest that the child might be Legolas's, and he simply had had amnesia.

Legolas had never before wished to take any violent action against his brother, but that moment was the exception.

Upon greeting his father, Legolas had gone to his room so that he might be alone with his thoughts; he knew that wouldn't last long though, seeing that Estel was returning to Rivendell that same day.

Legolas had tried to persuade his longtime friend to stay, but the ranger would hear nothing of it. Nothing seemed to be able to keep him from returning to Rivendell, and Legolas began to question the man's motives, for there were certain rumors circulating that Estel was bewitched by Arwen, the beautiful daughter of lord Elrond.

Legolas tried not to believe them, and for the sake of his friend the elf hoped that the rumors were not true.

When he went to his room, he found an Elven servant inside; Avariel instantly noticed his return the moment the door swung open. She turned around, and made sure to keep her hands behind her back, for she was holding something that did not belong to her.

Though his thoughts were elsewhere, Legolas was still aware enough to notice the servant girl…and the fact that she appeared to be hiding something.

He frowned and she placed a smile on her fair face.

"Is something wrong?" Legolas asked her.

She shook her head, and began to move for the door, but Legolas stopped her.

"What are you hiding behind your back?" he asked firmly, so firmly, that she put her head down.

A moment passed before she looked up again, making direct eye contact with him; his blue eyes met her green ones and that moment ended sooner than she had liked to, but she still was able to find her escape, slipping out of the door before he could say anything else to her.

Once outside, she retrieved a necklace that had belonged to Legolas. He used to wear it often, especially while he grieved for his late mother, but now he never wore it at all. But it still reminded Avariel of him, and she was glad of that.

Happier than the Prince would never know.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

When Avariel and her strange behavior were out the door, Legolas bolted the door and changed into something more comfortable.

He could not resist the urge to look at the locket once more, for it seemed to entrance his thoughts.

Legolas popped the thing open again and stared at the portrait intently. He did not understand what had happened, or who this child was, but he was determined to find out.

Retrieving a small knife from his weapon belt, Legolas lifted the portrait with great care; if he was fortunate, then there would at least be some kind of identification on the back.

He got more than what he could have ever bargained for.

On the back of the portrait, in bold Elvish was written _Legolas._

The elf nearly dropped the locket.

There had to be some kind of mistake! How could this be him? He had seen this child in his dreams, covered in blood, the blood of another. This had never happened to him! How could this be?

He simply did not understand. All of a sudden, the room seemed to spin to the Prince, and he could hardly orientate himself. By the time his vision cleared again, Legolas came to a decision: He knew that Estel was leaving very soon, but he would need to pay someone else a visit first…

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Thranduil, in his private quarters, noticed something strange. On one of his bed pillows was a locket, a locket that he owned, the only thing was that he had put it in a chest the day before.

Thranduil shook the notion away, simply presuming that overly nosy servants were to blame. He would have to talk with them later about that.

He gingerly picked the locket up and fingered the intricate carving of a tree on the front of it. He popped the thing open, and couldn't stop a small smile from coming to his lips when he saw the portrait within.

But this time, he noticed, the little portrait was loose, almost as though it had been taken out and put in without much effort. The King of Mirkwood frowned to himself, wondering why this was so.

His slender and nimble fingers easily lifted the portrait from its slot, and he found one five letter word staring back at him in rigid writing:

Thief.

Thranduil's mouth hung open for a moment, and he looked around the room as though he expected the intruder to emerge at any moment, for he knew that none of his servants could have possibly done this.

Just then, a knock resounded on the door, causing the jittery King to drop the locket and the portrait. But he hardly noticed.

A sheathed dagger rested in one of his chests, for he had had no need of it for years…until this day.

He collected it quickly, sliding it into one of his boots; he took a deep breath, and then flung the door open.

He breathed a noisy sigh of relief.

"Is everything alright, father?" Legolas asked with sincere concern.

Thranduil nodded and swallowed hard. "Yes son, do come in."

Legolas walked in; he couldn't help nervously fingering the locket.

"I thought that you would be with Estel at this time, seeing that he is leaving within the hour."

Legolas turned to his father with a serious look on his face. "I need to talk to you, father."

Thranduil knew then that it was serious and his smile vanished. "What is it?" he asked, motioning for Legolas to sit down, but the elf refused.

He took the locket off and dangled it before his father. "Fingolfin found this in the woods when we were returning."

Thranduil nodded. Fingolfin had told him some of that story. "You do not need my permission to keep a locket, Legolas," Thranduil scolded mildly, thinking that there were much more important matters than that.

Legolas nodded. "That I do know, and I will keep it for it is rightfully mine."

Thranduil tilted his head a little. "How so?" he asked.

Legolas dropped the locket into Thranduil's waiting hand. "Open it, father," he said stoically.

Already having a bad experience with a locket just recently, the King hesitated a little, but once he saw how serious Legolas was, he was quick to decide against hesitation. He opened it, only to find himself face to face with the same child that he had seen in his locket, only that the elfling was a little younger.

"The portrait bears my name," Legolas explained. "And this child—me in my younger years—is the same child that I saw in a dream that I had last night."

Thranduil had butterflies in his stomach, and it was not a good thing. Before he could stop him, Legolas told him his dream, leaving the King pale and his hands shaking.

"Do you know the meaning of this, father?" Legolas asked.

Thranduil shook his head. "No, I do not; it was simply a nightmare, there is nothing to it. Sometimes we all dream strange and stupid things, but it does not always mean that they are significant; there is no significance…"

By the time he realized that Legolas was no longer listening to him, it was too late, for Legolas had already noticed the little portrait lying on the floor. He picked it up and turned back to his father. "Is this not the same child, father?"

Thranduil swallowed hard, wishing that he had a glass of mead nearby.

But Legolas was relentless.

"Is this not me?"


	4. Finding His Own Answers

**ROGUE**

**Chapter Four: Finding his own answers**

Thranduil would have rocked back on his heels if he wasn't sitting down; Legolas saw the shock etched on the King's face and so he asked again.

"Is this not me, father?" he asked, only this time his tone was a little softer—for some odd reason, that look of utter shock gave the prince a pang of unwanted guilt.

Thranduil swallowed hard before he gave his thought-out answer. "Yes," he finally said, and paused as though he was deciding if that was the appropriate word to use. "Yes, it is you, my son."

A look of hope returned to Legolas's blue eyes. "Then do you know the meaning of this?" he asked, sounding even calmer.

Thranduil shook his head, almost violently. "I know not the meaning—if there even is a meaning—I only know that that child is you. I—I have…" he swallowed hard, for he knew that his son's soul searching eyes were staring at him intently, "…I have no idea how that picture wound up there. Whoever has that must have attained it by some ill means…probably just to cause trouble, to stir up dead demons of the…" Thranduil stopped abruptly, realizing that he had spoken his thoughts aloud, something that he did not do often. In his anger, he had blurted out something that was better left unsaid. He also saw Legolas's face. The King knew that if he tried to go back now, he would only entangle himself in a futile lie.

Legolas seemed to suddenly understand in some manner why his father was so nervous. It appeared that Thranduil knew far more than what he was letting on. Legolas put on a calm face, for he still refused to disrespect his father. "Tell me father, you know more than what you are telling me. If it involves me, I must know it—especially if it will help me to solve the mystery of this dream."

Thranduil stared at him for a moment, unblinking, for he was waging an inner war. If he told Legolas, he would surely lose his son—no doubt of it. If he did not tell, Legolas would be very angry with him for a time, but he would eventually come around again. But if Legolas somehow discovered on his own…

"Legolas, you must understand that what you just heard me babbling about was the rambled of a frightened father. It is only on instinct that I assumed something so preposterous. There is no weight to it, and I am afraid to tell you, you must let this dream go; it means nothing. You have my word on this; I assure you."

Legolas looked into his father's green eyes, and how he wanted to believe him; he would have given everything to believe that assurance. But he could not.

With a clenched jaw, the Prince took the locket back. "Father, I must ask you to send my apologies to Estel, for I am sorry that I will not be able to tell him goodbye."

"Where are you going to be, Legolas?" Thranduil asked, suddenly having a terrible feeling deep within.

"There is something that I must do, father; somewhere I must go," he said, without turning to face his father.

"Do not leave, I beg you Legolas. Do not venture into the woods—not now, not until it is safe."

Legolas suddenly turned to face him. "Why? Is there something or someone that I should be afraid of?"

Thranduil started to say something but changed his mind.

Legolas looked away, unable to look Thranduil in the eye, for deep down, he felt guilty for going against his father's plea. "I am going to find my own answers. Goodbye father."

Thranduil grabbed his son by the arm and spun him around. Legolas could clearly see anger in the elf's eyes, but he also saw something else…desperation?

"I am your father and you are to do as I say. I want to remain here, and so you will do."

Legolas returned his father's stare. "I want to stay, father, and I will—if you tell me the truth."

Thranduil swallowed hard, as though he was contemplating his options. "No," he finally said. "There is nothing to tell you, Legolas; you foolish—idiot! You seek answers where they do not exist!"

"I want to believe you father—you have no idea how badly I want to do so…but I must find my own answers."

Thranduil's blood began to boil. He threw his hands up resignedly and walked over to the window. "I cannot stop you, for you are too stone-headed to see true logic, but," he said, turning to face the Prince once more, "You cannot expect me to find an pity for you when your lifeless body is returned to me."

Legolas paled at those words, but held his resolve. "I will do what I must, father," he said calmly.

Thranduil, obviously angry, glared at his son. "Very well then, go! Walk to your death like the fool that you are! If you find anyone who you think you are looking for, do you remotely believe that they will spare your life? What use are _answers _if you are dead?"

Legolas offered no argument to his father's rant. After the King had spoken, he simply turned and walked away.

To find his own answers.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Estel had left at the appointed time, and Thranduil had informed him that Legolas simply was unable to be present to see him off. Estel understood and wasn't about to press the issue. He knew that his good friend had a lot on his mind, and he knew that Legolas knew he would always be there if the Prince wanted to share his burden with another.

Fingolfin had decided to ride to Rivendell as well. For some, including Estel, it came across as a spur of the moment, but it seemed that King Thranduil had expected it, even looked upon his son with beaming pride as he set out, some hours before Estel.

The man retained no hopes or desire of catching up with that one. No, he would rather journey alone that ride with the Elven prince.

It pained Estel everyday to think of how someone so cold had captured the heart of Lady Arwen. It pained him to the point where he could dwell on it no longer.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Legolas had wasted no time in gathering the supplies that he would need before saddling his horse and riding away.

In truth, he knew not which direction would lead him to the answers which he sought. And now that he was on his own, he was beginning to wonder if he had taken things too far with his father. Why could he have just been content with Thranduil's answers and reassurances?

Legolas shook away the nagging notion with the thought that his father's obvious lies had driven him to this point.

He decided to head for the place where Fingolfin had found the locket which Legolas still wore around his neck. He set his horse at a decent pace as they made their way to the spot. He looked up at the sky and saw that night was fast approaching. It would not be long before he would be forced to set camp. He did not have much time.

He managed to ride all the way to that very same place, despite the fact that darkness had already descended; he arrived and looked around to the best of his ability, but yet he saw nothing.

Still willing to give it a try the next morning, when the light would aid his vision greatly, the Elven Prince set up a small camp nearby.

He did not notice that he was being watched—closer than what he could ever imagine.

Several sets of eyes watched the Prince intently; they had followed him back to this point and knew that he had obviously taken the bait, for he had been searching the very spot where the locket and dagger had been planted.

It would not be much longer now; their master would surely be pleased.


	5. Taken

**_A/N: I just wanted to thank you all for the wonderful reviews, and for the C2 add!_**

**_I also wanted to apologize for two things. The first: Sorry for taking so long to update; I was going to do it early this week, but FF acted up on me, and this is the only other day that I've been able to access the computer..._**

**_Also, the short chapters...I promise that I'm going to work in getting them longer sighs it's just that I'm so busy these days, anyways, if you guys are still interested, here's chapter five. :)_**

**Jedi Knight247**

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**ROGUE**

**Chapter Five: Taken**

Legolas awakened in the middle of the night with a start. In his 'sleep', he had heard the rustling of branches; the reason why he was alerted by this was because it was not a windy night at all.

He sat up and looked all around trying to sense that was the source of the noise. He figured that it might be a wild animal—or worse, a giant spider. Sadly, it seemed that the things weren't so uncommon in the wood that these elves called their home. He gathered up his bow and quiver of arrows, easily slipping them on his back.

Much to his advantage, his fire had now burnt low, making it a bit harder for him to be sighted.

He stopped his musings as he heard the sound again. Now he saw that it was coming from a large bush directly opposite of him. He wasn't sure if he should draw his two long knives instead, but he figured that his trusty bow and quiver of arrows had gotten him far enough in life, and a spider would be no match for them.

The rustling stopped again, leaving Legolas more puzzled than alert. His blue eyes scanned the darkness. "Come out, whoever you are," he called into the darkness. "If your intentions are not evil, you will be welcome to rest and a meal within this goodly realm."

There came laughter that made the Prince's heart skip a beat. He was now anxious. "Who are you?" he called. "Come out, I order you."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw the tips of at least a score of arrows pointed his way. He was surrounded, this much he knew.

He noticed the silhouette of a woman as she stepped out from the shadows and made her way towards him. She was not Elven, he noticed, but simply a woman.

She stopped some ten feet away from him.

"Who are you?" he asked, though he took care to keep his bow lowered, so that he would not have a score or more of arrows raining down on him.

She was adorned in black, though it was too dark to make out the specifics of her attire, and her light brown hair hung far past her shoulders. As she surveyed him a smirk crossed her face. She gave a slight nod, one that Legolas hardly noticed—until he was seized from behind and his hands were bound behind him. No matter how he struggled to prevent this from being done, it seemed that the men behind him were stronger.

"See to it that he is not badly harmed," The woman said.

"Who are you?" Legolas asked.

"You will discover that soon enough," she said, not bothering to hide her smirk.

Legolas could only watch as his weapons were seized and he also saw elves in this band of attackers, but he could do nothing as they took his prized weapons for themselves.

The same strong men, who bound the Prince, held him in place as the woman approached him and noticed the golden chain dangling from his neck; she reached out her hand to get it but he struggled against his captors, preventing her from doing so.

He wasn't so successful the second time, for she was able to nimbly yank the thing off of his neck. She popped it open and examined the portrait within.

Satisfied, she put it back around the Prince's neck, covering the red line that she had created by yanking it off roughly.

She gave a nod to the men and they began to follow her further into the forest, but before they moved too much further, he was blindfolded and gagged, lest he should cry out. Legolas did not have the slightest idea where they were leading him. It seemed now that since he was without eyesight, he felt and heard everything a little more acutely. He did not enjoy this 'advantage' when they walked through an area thickly populated with trees, for the branches seemed to scratch him with every step that he took, and his captors did not seem to care in the least.

Eventually, they stopped, and Legolas was forced against a tree. His gag was removed, but his blindfold remained; he could hear a few muffled voices in the distance, but could not decipher what they were saying. To his limited knowledge, he was unattended—giving him a perfect opportunity to try and rub the rope off of his wrists.

He listened carefully, trying to see if he could hear anyone around him; apparently the coast was clear. Despite this, he still tried to do it inconspicuously.

Much to his pain, he knew that he was rubbing off more skin than rope on the tree, but he did not give up. And his efforts began to pay off, for he could begin to feel the rope give way…until he received a blow in the stomach; the Prince doubled over with a groan. He felt a foot hold him in place as a manly voice spoke.

"You are not to be harmed but that may be a hard order to obey."

Legolas, now facedown on the muddy ground, couldn't have responded if he wanted to.

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King Thranduil paced his private quarters anxiously; he refused to allow anyone entrance, not even the servants. As he paced, he bit his fingers nervously, a habit that he had not reverberated back to in centuries. Yet here he was this night, a nervous wreck.

He was nervous because he knew that Legolas was out in the wild where danger would no doubt find him. But one heart-wrenching thought kept on coming back to haunt him in his mind:

Why had he let him go?

Why indeed? Thranduil, much to his shame, believed that he had let his fear stop him from truly doing all that he could to keep Legolas safe…fear that the dreadful secret would be exposed. He himself had found it terrible, and he knew that Legolas would hate him forever for it.

_Well better that he learns it and dies, than if I had told him and he would hate me for the rest of his no doubt long life._

"No!" Thranduil screamed, putting his hands to his ear as if that would block out his own thoughts. "It is not worth him dying!" he shouted to himself, no doubt sound like a madman.

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One servant heard him as she passed by his double doors. Avariel, the young Elven maiden could hardly believe what her ears were hearing. The King was usually so composed and collected, but here he was, apparently talking to himself!

Avariel had heard that Prince Legolas had left the palace on very short notice. Rumors were quietly spreading, but she didn't believe any of them. She wanted to hear it straight from Legolas, her love…

Perhaps, the love was one sided. Well, she eventually conceded that it was even less than that, for the Prince hardly knew that she existed, she doubted that he even knew her name, and all the while she was playing the part of the fool, her eyes glazing over dreamily whenever she was within looking distance of him. The servants teased her, no doubt, but it was something that she could not help, and it was a dream that she somehow held into, even though she had been told time and time again that it would never happen.

She was a servant girl after all.

Avariel had somewhat come to accept that a true relationship with the Prince could never be, but fantasies never hurt anyone—right?

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Estel knew that Fingolfin was probably far ahead of him, but the man still held on to hope that he might reach Rivendell before the Prince…somehow. He had to speak with Arwen, he had to tell her how he truly felt, and he had to tell her not only that he loved her, but how much he loved her.

He knew that Elrond would not approve, and probably never would, but he had to tell her the truth.

She had to know that he wanted her to be his as long as he lived.


	6. Faramir, Ranger of Gondor

**_A/N: Hi guys, hope I didn't take too long to update--I have been busy lately (btw: I turned 15 last Saturday : ) )._**

**_Lastly, I hope you guys enjoy the change of scene--I promise it'll tie in._**

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**ROGUE**

**Chapter Six: Faramir, Ranger of Gondor**

The man dismounted his horse, finally glad to be back within the walls of the city again. He and his men had fought hard, and as a result all were dirty and bloody—though a considerable amount of it was not their own.

Stable boys came out to lead their horses away, and this Captain Faramir gladly accepted; he was close enough to the Citadel to walk on his own.

The walk for him was not a completely unpleasant one: he usually enjoyed such walks anyway (though he was usually considerably cleaner); sadly, the thoughts that he was dwelling on were not as pleasant.

Yes, his meager forces had held out at Osgiliath, but the Orcan tactics were beginning to become much more cunning. Though they had managed to cut the main force of the orcs off from their comrades, the creatures had almost succeeded in surrounding them completely.

Denethor, the Steward of Gondor would not be pleased.

He approached the Citadel, and the guards recognized him almost immediately and let him in without a word of question.

The sound of his boots echoed on the hard floor, and Faramir could hear his own heart thumping loudly.

Finally, he approached the doors of the main chamber where he knew that his father would be. Again, the guards seemed as though they would let him in, and the taller one of the two nodded to the ranger.

"Lord Denethor is expecting you," he said with a slight smile, and with a nod to the other guard, they opened the mahogany wood double doors.

Faramir, despite the lump in his throat, managed to give a slight nod and smile of thanks to the soldiers before walking in.

The doors closed behind him. For Faramir, it was a foreboding sound.

"So you have returned from Osgiliath," croaked a voice from nearby.

Faramir turned his eyes in the direction of the voice just in time to see Denethor ease into an exquisite chair with a scowl on his face.

"Yes, father; we manage to repel the attacks," he said, trying to sound confident, but failing miserably.

"With ease?" Denethor asked sensing a chink in this story.

Even he heard Faramir's loud swallow.

"Not with complete ease, father, for it seems that their tactics are becoming somewhat smarter; but it was enough to destroy most of the orcs and send the small remnant running."

Denethor's scowl did not diminish. "I do not think it is so much that there tactics are smarter, but rather, yours are getting dumber and dumber."

Faramir took the insult in stride, at least outwardly.

"You will have to do better than this, if you want to even hope to fight the minions of Mordor."

"Father, with all due respect, our numbers…"

"Do you think that I care about your numbers?" Denethor asked, his tone rising. "I don't care about your numbers! I do what is best when I allot you your men; it is not about the numbers. In your incompetence, you fail to utilize them properly!"

"With all due respect, father, one hundred and fifty men can only hold Osgiliath for so long."

Denethor pursed his lips. "Leave me," he said coldly. "I have heard enough of your failure for one day."

With a heavy heart, Faramir left his father.

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Legolas was gagged again as they resumed their march. He could not see anything, nor could he speak to anyone, and though he could hear, that sense did not seem to do him much good.

Even though his legs began to ache, he was still forced to walk and it seemed grueling indeed. Thankfully, he still held a measure of discipline and pride, which stopped him from crying out or stumbling. No, he would not grant them that pleasure.

He was the Prince of Mirkwood; he would not be belittled by this group of wayward rebels, or so they seemed.

They walked for the better part of the day, and more than once Legolas could hear his captors talking to one another, stating that they were near to the camp. A part of Legolas was glad that their seemingly ceaseless walking would finally come to an end soon, yet another part of him dreaded going to the camp, where there would likely be sentries about, preventing all routes of escape.

Still, he held on to the hope that he knew the forest better than the back of his hand; he would outsmart these bandits one way or another. He just knew it.

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Faramir walked down the hall, not feeling very nice due to his encounter with Denethor, and the fact that he needed a bath badly.

He remotely hoped to find Boromir his brother, but had a feeling that he would not catch up with the soldier until later.

It was no secret that Denethor favored Boromir over Faramir, but amazingly, Faramir and Boromir were very close and did not let Denethor's disfavor of Faramir get in the way; but still, the fact remained and Faramir was often left wondering if his father loved him at all.

As he dwelt on these thoughts, he wandered to the library, arguably one of the largest libraries in Minas Tirith. He decided to get a book or two and take them to his bedroom so he could indulge in some much-needed reading in a little while.

In the library, he felt somewhat at home. Out of the three Hurin men, he had taken to books more them both of them combined. He could get lost in a book and allow his imagination to run wild—of course he was teased for this, and when he was a boy they called him a book orc—but now he did not seem to care.

As he walked in, though, he was stopped in his tracks immediately, for sitting in a chair with a large historic book (precisely the one that Faramir had come for!) was a young woman.

Her long blonde hair was very much past her shoulders, complimenting her fair skin; she was rather interested in what she was reading, and only looked up when he had advanced into the room.

Her blue eyes scanned the dirty ranger from head to foot, and poor Faramir felt unspeakably embarrassed.

"I—I am sorry for interrupting you," he began, running a hand through his red hair which was stringy from dirt and grime.

"No sir, you must forgive me," she said, standing to her feet. "I am only a guest."

"Guest?" Faramir asked.

"Allow me to introduce myself: I am Éowyn, sister-daughter of King Théoden of Rohan."

Faramir did well to hide his shock. "Forgive me for not recognizing you sooner, My Lady," he said, bowing politely. "I hope that you have found our library somewhat amusing."

"Yes, I have," she said with a slight smile. "I hear that Captain Faramir enjoys this library also; does he visit it very often?"

Faramir then blushed noticeably. She did not even recognize him!

Éowyn then noticed that his face had reddened considerably, and at that moment she realized her error. "Oh, you are Captain Faramir," she said, and Faramir was uncertain if that was disappointment he detected in her voice. "I would have recognized you were it not for…never mind," she said, extending her hand to him. "I was told by your brother, Captain Boromir, that I would like you very much."

Faramir's clammy hand shook her fair one. "I hope that I have not disappointed you very much," he said, very embarrassed to say the least.

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When they finally arrived at their desired destination, Legolas was led into a tent and was tied to one of the poles that supported it.

When he was quite sure that he was alone, the elf contemplated what to do.

He could not see, nor could he speak, and apparently he was fastened tightly to one of the poles; he considered shaking it until it collapsed, but then immediately thought of what he would do once it came crashing down on him, trapping him under and putting him at the mercy of his captors once again.

In the end, despite his endless thinking, he decided with much contempt, that the only thing that he could do was wait and hope that his captors did not intend to kill him anytime soon.

It took some time, but eventually he heard someone enter the tent, and the Prince held his breath, for the silence that ensued was enough to make his heart leap out of his mouth.

Finally he heard a male voice.

"Remove his blindfold," the voice ordered.

There was no reply, but in a moments' time, Legolas could see again.

He blinked to correct the blur, and in a moment or two his vision righted himself. The tent which he was in wasn't very large but it was spacious enough for one to stand or lay comfortably; he did not recognize the elf who had taken off his blindfold, neither did he recognize the blond elf who stood before him—at least not completely, for Legolas was certain that he had seen that face before; it was in the back of his mind…somewhere.

Turning to the other elf, the blond one said, "Leave us."

The elf left without a comment.

The elf folded his arms across his chest as he surveyed Legolas. Legolas couldn't help but notice that he was wearing armor, most likely forged by elves themselves.

"Do you know who I am?" Legolas asked, suddenly breaking the silence.

The elf nodded. "I am quite aware of who you are," he stated calmly.

"I do not think so, for if you knew who I was you would not hold me here! I am Legolas, a Prince of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil. If you knew who I was, you would not be so bold, especially since you are in my father's wood."

The blond elf allowed Legolas to rant a bit before he spoke. "As I said before, I know who you are, _Prince_. As for my being bold, I highly doubt that your King's scouts will find you here."

"We are still in Mirkwood, are we not?" Legolas asked, gaining back a bit of composure.

"Yes," the elf said after a moment, "but not for long."

"Then where are we going? Where are you taking me?"

The elf seemed to be deciding whether or not to tell Legolas, but eventually, he made up his mind and told him:

"Gondor."


	7. Where are you, my son?

**_A/N: I want to thank you all for being patient with me when it comes to updates; my life schedule-wise is a bugger...even still, I'm trying to pop chapters out as quickly as possible._**

**_I know you guys are probably wondering when Legolas will get just about another whole chapter to himself, so I'll just let you know that he'll be key again starting with the next chapter. Anyway, I thank you all for your reviews, and I hope you'll all enjoy this chapter. : )_**

**Jedi Knight247**

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**ROGUE**

**Chapter Seven: Where are you, my son?**

"Gondor?" Legolas asked. "I do not understand."

"You don't have to," the blond elf retorted, somewhat sharply. "I trust that Shayleigh and the rest of the band treated you well."

It then occurred to Legolas that the woman who he met earlier must have been Shayleigh. "They were as good as could be expected from a band of renegades," the Prince said, not hiding his sarcasm.

"Good," the elf replied. "And I also trust that you will enjoy the journey to Gondor so long as you make no attempts to escape."

Legolas glared at the elf, but said nothing; he was forced to wonder how it all came to this so quickly. The palace further in Mirkwood now seemed so far away, almost foreign to him and Legolas could hardly believe that at one moment he had been riding deeper into the forest looking for answers, and the next he was captured.

He now was forced to ask himself the question: was finding answers really worth getting captured and carried away to a foreign land?

Legolas refused to answer that mental question, perhaps because he knew that he would not be able to stand the answer that was inevitable, he wouldn't be able to stand under the burden of guilt that he had left his homeland and kin just because of some secret that probably wasn't worth discovering, anyway.

"What do you want with me?" he found himself asking.

The elf only smiled wickedly. "I will tell you soon enough," he said, "but I am afraid to say that you will not like what you'll hear."

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_**The next day…**_

It was the next day, bringing Estel closer to Rivendell, but he knew that Fingolfin was even closer than he.

Estel knew not why he wanted to reach Rivendell before the troublesome elf, for he had never succeeded in gathering up the nerve necessary to tell Lady Arwen how much he truly loved her and wanted to be with her. No, for he knew that Fingolfin would kill him anyway if he found out.

Despite his lack of nerve, rumors had already spread around Rivendell about Estel's apparent feelings for Arwen, making him much too embarrassed to even speak with her properly anymore.

And it also made him much more wary of Fingolfin, who had been shooting him death stares ever since; the last thing that the ranger wanted was for Fingolfin to come after him physically. For though the human had never entered into the annual fighting tournament, he only needed to see the way Fingolfin handled his opponents, to know what would happen to him.

The sight of a mutilated corpse lying on the ground suddenly came into his thoughts.

Estel shrugged it away, or tried to, reminding himself to be a man.

Even if he did not catch up to the swift Fingolfin, Estel resolved to speak with Arwen; it might be his last chance at happiness. At least he could know for a fact how she felt about him, for it was obvious that she likely knew how he felt about her…he needed an absolute answer, and that alone would determine if his heart was forever broken or forever sealed with happiness.

With that burst of thought, Estel spurred his steed to go on; he most likely not catch Fingolfin, but nonetheless, he would speak with Arwen, and it seemed that that thought alone calmed him almost completely—except for the singular fact: that he must work up enough courage to speak with her alone.

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The resounding knock on the door awakened Faramir from his sleep; he sat up in his bed, his red hair in a mess. He simply ran a hand through it and ruffled a bit before getting out of bed.

"Who's there?" he asked groggily.

"Get up, Faramir," said a voice that, despite trying to sound serious, didn't really succeed.

Faramir snorted and opened the door to find, as he expected, Boromir standing there. Seeing that it was just his brother, Faramir let him come in before closing the door once again.

"Good Morning, brother," Boromir said with a smile. "I have never known you to sleep so long."

Faramir yawned. "I'm tired; I had a rough day yesterday."

Boromir almost instantly sobered; he had heard all of the details about the latest skirmish in Osgiliath. "I heard," he said. "I am trying to convince father to send me out there with some men as well to help you out."

Faramir smiled weakly. "I wish you all the best trying to convince father," he said resignedly.

Boromir simply shrugged.

"Is there any particular reason why you decided to interrupt my sleep?" Faramir asked.

"Ah, yes; I meant to tell you that we are to break fast with the royals of Rohan in less that half an hour."

Faramir's eyes widened considerably. "That soon?" he asked.

Boromir smiled and nodded. "I expected that you would be ready, little brother," he said, turning for the door once more. "Be quick, I don't suspect that father wants you to be late."

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Faramir rushed like a mad Gondorian to get down in time, for the last thing he wanted was to be scolded by his father in front of Rohan's royal family.

In truth, he didn't understand what was going on, for both sides were not closely acquainted at all, and the ranger suspected that things would be uncomfortable—but still he dressed quickly, and made it downstairs in time.

The large table in the eating hall was set, and everyone was there, from Denethor, to Théoden and Prince Théodred to Théoden's niece and nephew. Faramir also took note of Boromir and Gwendolyn of Cair Andros, to whom he was reluctantly betrothed.

All was silent as Faramir entered; he greeted all accordingly, and then sat down at the table.

The breakfast was uncomfortable at best, and conversation was obviously strained. As soon as Faramir finished and was able to leave, he got up and left the Citadel.

He had decided to go for a walk, but it eventually led to him overlooking the Pelennor fields. Soon enough, he sensed that he was not alone, though.

"I too could not wait to escape that meal," said a voice.

He turned to his left to find himself staring at Éowyn.

He was going to defend himself, but in the end he just didn't see the point. "How long are you to stay here?" he asked before the words could even leave his mouth.

Éowyn smiled. "I do not know, but I do not suspect that it will be soon, seeing that my uncle has something important to discuss with your father."

"Do you know what it is?"

Éowyn shook her head. "In truth, I do not care for it too much unless it is something that will resolve this tension between our lands."

Faramir nodded in agreement. "Perhaps that is what they are discussing," he said with a hopeful smile.

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"Is there any word of him?" Thranduil asked, trying to maintain his dignity.

The Elven soldier shook his head.

"Leave me," Thranduil growled, "and do not return until he is found."

The soldier scuttled out of the room, and when he did, the King sent yet another vase at the now closed door, smashing it to pieces; the noise was so loud that it drowned out his growl of frustration; he walked over to his glassless window and stared out over the forest, knowing that his son was out there somewhere.

"Where are you, my son?" the king asked. He knew that all was not well, for he had believed that Legolas would return to him the last night, and yet there was no sign of him anywhere in the forest, and Thranduil now suspected that the worst had happened.

That he had died?

No.

But that he had been taken, taken by the one who sought revenge on the King; Thranduil had been so worried, that he had not eaten another meal since Legolas had left him.

"Where are you, Legolas?" he choked out, knowing full well that he would not receive and answer.

No one heard as the King fainted and fell on the ground motionless.


	8. Aril

**Thanks to all who reviewed; here's chapter 8 : )**

**ROGUE**

**Chapter Eight: Aril**

Legolas had been surprised when an elf had come in and cut his bonds, telling him that he was free to wander around. At first, the Prince entertained thoughts of using his newfound freedom to escape, but as soon as he stepped outside, he realized that it was in fact, too good to be true.

For once he was outside, he could see that archers, some elves, others men, surrounded the camp. One glance at their barbed arrows told Legolas that now was not a good time to contemplate escaping.

The camp was set up simply so that whenever the situation required it, they could easily pack up and leave. To Legolas, it seemed as if they were doing just that. Elves and men alike went about their business, quenching camp fires, and taking down tents, while some others prepared what would likely be their last meal in Mirkwood.

Legolas understood why they were not staying in one place for so long. After all, seeing that Gondor was ten-days away, Legolas could not see a reason for why they would be tardy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted someone; turning his full attention to the person, he recognized her as Shayleigh, the woman who had been partially responsible for having him taken away. He eyed her with pure disdain, so pure that she was almost caught off guard, for was that a glimmer of hate that she saw in his eyes?

Nevertheless, Shayleigh had never been a woman to shirk away because a man or any other being gave her a dirty look. She returned his glare with a smirk of her own and sauntered over.

"Well, hello to you as well, Prince," she said in a sarcastic tone, but regardless of whether or not she was being sarcastic, Shayleigh's voice always seemed to come out as if she was mocking you.

Legolas turned to face her fully. "I do not know very much about you, woman, but I know that your intentions are evil, and that is enough for me to know—I advise you to stay away from me."

Shayleigh took full note of the anger in his voice, but if she was in any way frightened, she did not show it. "Oh, Prince, you must do better than that if you are to succeed in threatening me. Besides, where are your weapons? And even if you did have them, I doubt that you would be able to kill me without killing yourself in the process."

Legolas's eyes narrowed to slits. "I thing that you are mistaken, Shayleigh; weapons or no weapons, I could still kill you just as easily."

"With a score of barbed arrows in your back?" she asked rhetorically. "I think your pride had gotten the better of you, Prince. Perhaps we will have much more fun than I once thought."

Before she could say another snide remark, Legolas gripped her arm tightly, and stared into her eyes. "You know why I am here, do you not?" he did not even stop to let her answer that question, he simply rambled on. "Ah, you must know, you played a part in bringing me to this ragtag band of renegades. You will tell me why you have brought me here, and you will tell me now."

Shayleigh looked at her arm and then back at Legolas. "I will tell you nothing; after all, you should learn everything in due time. What is the matter? Do you lack in patience?" she asked, noting his brows quickly furrowing into so deep a frown that they formed into a **V.**

"I neither need nor want your sarcasm, Shayleigh; I simply want the truth."

"And he will tell you when he sees fit," she retorted.

"Who?"

She frowned. "You have not met Xiomar as of yet?"

"Who is Xiomar?" Legolas asked, growing more confused by the minute.

She smirked. "He does not look so different from you," she remarked slyly.

Legolas took the hint. "He is the elf that met with me," he reasoned, though he was quite surprised seeing that Xiomar was not an Elven name.

"Well met, Prince," she said. "Perhaps you are smart after all."

"My advice still stands," Legolas almost hissed, referring to his earlier threat that she stay out of his face.

Shayleigh simply wore a smirk as she sauntered away and out of his view.

Legolas turned away, disgusted by how one individual could annoy him more, it seemed, than a host of orcs.

He didn't get to reflect on her annoyance for too long, though, for a voice startled him a little bit.

"Shayleigh seems to have a lasting effect on all of us," the male voice said from behind.

Legolas turned around, and found himself face to face with a blond elf, and he was undoubtedly surprised by the slightly boyish features, considering how mature the voice sounded; not deep and resonant, but simply a bit mature.

"Who are you?" Legolas asked, trying to keep the mean edge out of his voice.

"I am Aril, assigned to guard you," the elf replied.

Legolas eyed the camp, which was not very large. "From what?" he asked.

Aril was silent for a moment. "We are to set out for Gondor again as soon as everything is pack up and our meal is prepared, and my father does not wish for you to be bound…"

Legolas held up his hand, showing that he had the general idea. When his hand was held up, Aril, saw that he still wore his royal ring, which was ruby, with emerald, in the form a leaf, snaking around it.

"I am surprised that the rogues have not yet taken that from you," Aril remarked, eyeing the ring pointedly.

Legolas did not know what to say to that, he only offered some kind of shrug.

The uncomfortable silence that ensued was stifling, but in that short span of time 9which seemed longer, considering the strained situation), Legolas studied Aril's features and saw that he bore a resemblance to Xiomar: their blond hair was of the exact same hue, as was his skin tone and features, all save the green eyes, and Legolas could not guess where he inherited those orbs from, but Aril's eyes were, in truth, the best feature on his face, for though Xiomar was not a bad looking elf, it seemed that there was a clash of those features and those of immaturity when it came to Aril.

Legolas finally broke the silence. "Aril, there is something that I need to know."

The elf only slightly frowned. "I will tell you whatever it is, so long as it is within reason," he said.

Legolas brushed the latter part of the sentence away. "I need you to tell me why I am here."

Aril shook his head, "That is not in my power to…"

"Listen to me," Legolas said, cutting him short. "My father, King Thranduil, will know that I am missing, and he will come after me, and when he finds me (which will not take too long), he will likely have every one in this camp slaughtered in the heat of his rage; but if you tell me the truth, then I will see to it with my life if necessary that neither you or your loved ones in this camp are hurt."

"I do not want to be the one to tell you this, but I do not believe that King Thranduil will find you," Aril said solemnly.

"Why?" the Prince asked, somewhat incredulously.

"Because, my father is in league with someone so powerful, that his army will crush Thranduil and his own army before he can give the order to strike."

"What foe is this?" Legolas asked, seemingly more to himself than to Aril. "There, or rather, was, one foe that was so powerful that Middle-Earth was brought to a…a standstill, and……." His words caught in his mouth as he saw that Aril was nodding to every word.

"He is not dead, he is very much alive, and in league with my father, Xiomar."

Legolas's eyes could not have gotten any wider, and his voice was barely a whisper.

"Sauron?"


	9. Return to Rivendell

**_A/N: I want to apologize for taking so long to update; so many personal things came up that I was forced to postpone it. But alas, here is another chapter, and I plan to pop out manymore until this fic is finished. I also want to thank you all for your reviews; they're all great._**

**_Speaking of, I believe someone wanted to know the timeline: I believe that in the first chapter I state that this is before the war of the ring._**

**_Anyway, to the story : )_**

**Jedi Knight247**

**ROGUE**

**Chapter Nine: Return to Rivendell**

When Avariel had knocked on one of the King's doors to bring him his breakfast, and had not even received so much as a vocal answer, she became worried; after conversing with another fellow concerned servant, they decided that it would be best if they used the emergency key to check on their King, for he would normally at least speak to them from behind the door.

When the servant returned with the key, Avariel shakily opened the door. To their shock and ultimate horror, the king lay on the ground, unmoving and pale. Avariel rushed to his immediate aid, while the other servant went to get a healer.

An unspoken question rang in the Elven maiden's mind. "What could have caused this to happen to King Thranduil?" only to be answered almost immediately.

Legolas.

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Meanwhile, Estel had finally reached Rivendell, and he knew that he had been beaten there by the haughty Prince Fingolfin.

Despite this, he was escorted into the Last Homely House by an Elven servant and was happily welcomed by King Elrond. After his welcome, Estel left to take a walk and be alone as he dwelt on what he would say to Arwen when the time finally came to speak with her alone.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

"I should have known that I would find you out here, Estel."

The man turned around and found himself face to face with Elladan, one of Elrond's sons.

Estel didn't respond to the remark, he simply slowed down, allowing the elf to catch up with him.

"What clouds your mind today, my friend?" Elladan asked, genuinely concerned.

Estel stopped walking. "'Tis nothing; I am fine. How has it been in Rivendell?"

"Well enough," Elladan admitted, "though someone here missed you."

Estel's gray eyes somewhat lit up; he knew that it was likely wishful thinking, but could Elladan be talking about Arwen?

"She missed me?" he asked before he could even stop himself.

Elladan nodded. "She could hardly sleep and would not eat very much either. The next time you decide to go away, you should bring her with you."

Was it true? Did Arwen truly have feelings for him? Was she as love struck as he?

Was she truly lovesick when he was gone?

Estel swallowed hard. "Where is she?"

"She should be near the stables; I thought that you had seen her already."

The man ran a hand through his black hair. "I was thinking about trying to find her, but…"

Elladan patted Estel on the shoulder. "You should go to her; perhaps she will lift that dark cloud off of you."

Estel could hardly believe what he was hearing; the Ranger was almost tempted to pinch himself. "Has she spoken to you about this?" he asked.

Elladan snorted. "I tried speaking to her, but she only wanted to see you; therefore, she was quite unfriendly, barking whenever I came near."

Estel's eyes widened. "Barking?"

Elladan nodded. "I suppose she is a dog, after all…" he cut himself off once he saw Estel's face. he caught the look of embarrassment and disappointment. Did Estel think that he was talking about someone else, and not his dog Merwen?

By the time he cut himself off, Estel was already turning a shade of red--even redder under Elladan's scrutinizing gaze. The ranger ran a hand through his dark hair. "Yes, dogs do bark," he said, trying to soind casual, "she is usually so well behaved; I hope that it wasn't too much of an inconvenience."

"No," said Elladan, thinking that he finally understood who Estel thought he was talking about. "It was not."

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Aril nodded. "Sauron indeed. Fortunately for myself, I have not met him face to face, and I fear the day that it will happen."

Legolas, still in shock, allowed the other blond elf to ramble on.

"Not many in this little band know this, but I hate him--I hate him so much that I wish him dead and curse him every day. He is the scourge of Midde-earth, the shadow that darkens our lands..."

Legolas was glad that there was someone like-minded among the rogues, but he sensed that there weren't many like Aril, or of there were, they would probably be much to frightened to voice their beliefs. "How did your father come into Sauron's service?" he asked.

Aril's face somewhat contorted to a frown, and then he shifted from one foot to the other. "It is a very long story, one that I cannot tell you right now."

Legolas frowned. "You can trust me when I tell you that I have time to spare."

The pther elf shook his head, and Legolas noted that his eyes scanned the rest of the camp, probably just for safety. "But I don't; I am very sorry, for I know that you have many questions, but I am not the one to answer them for you."

At that moment, something sank in the pit of Legolas's stomach. Just when he thought that this elf would tell him why he was here and more about Xiomar, this mysterious elf, he just cut off. Was it fear? Or was it simply alleigance to his father? Whichever one it was, Legolas could not decipher; he only wanted some light shed on his current situation.

Just as Aril was about to say something, Legolas cut him off on purpose and spoke somewhat sharply. "If you will not answer that question, you can at least tell me if this band of rogues normally takes prisoners at random."

Aril seemed to ponder on that for a moment, as if he didn't want something to slip out by accident. "They--we do what we must," he finally said, looking Legolas right in the eye.

There was something familiar about Aril--particularly his eyes, that Legolas could not quite place. He felt as though he had seen this elf before, yet he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had not.

Frustrated with the answer that just seemed to beat around the bush, Legolas clenched his jaw. "Then I will do what I must," he said, and with that, he turned to leave.

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When Boromir was finally able to get enough time to find his brother, he found Faramir in his chamber, with, as the soldier of Gondor had already expected, a lengthy book in hand.

At the sound of footsteps, Faramir lookedup and wasn't at all surprised to see Boromir. "It is good to see that you finally managed to tear yourself away from Lady Gwendolyn so that you could come and see me," Faramir said, trying to hide a teasing smile.

A look of annoyance instantly crossed Boromir's face, but he tried to brush off the comment as a joke. Faramir alone only knew how much Boromir did not want to marry Lady Gwendolyn of Cair Andros.

It had nothing to do with the way she looked, for she was by no means ugly, it was for two reasons: the first being that she was notorious in Cair Andros for not only her temper, but unruliness, and that was not all: she had been previously to a lord whom she did not care for, and he was found dead no sooner than one week after their wedding; the casue was unknown, but it was also highly rumored that she had poisoned him.

Boromir did not want her for a bride, but Denethor had other plans. They were to be married before the year was out and the final touchings to the wedding were already being put into place.

Faramir relaxed in his chair. "Is there some reason for why you wanted to see me?" he asked.

Boromir nodded. "Father wants to see you; he was going to send a servant to fetch you, but I of all people know where to find you," he added with a grin.

Faramir stood up. "Did he say why?"

"I believe that it has something to do with the Lady Eowyn," Boromir said. "That is about all that I know."

Faramir couldn't hide his frown as he wondered what in Arda Denethor wanted to say to him that involved Eowyn. Had he heard that they were talking alone? Did he not want Faramir to associate himself with her anymore?

These questions still flooded his mind as he made his way to his father's private apartments; it was usually a delightfully rare occurance that Denethor wanted to speak with his this privately.

But outwardly, Faramir showed no signs of inward conflict or nervousness, not even as the guards granted him entry, not even as the doors opened and he found himself face to face with Denethor.


End file.
